


Steps

by sunaddicted



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2k18 [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Canon Disabled Character, Disability, Domestic Fluff, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Injury Recovery, M/M, Nygmobblepot Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 02:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14034495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: Martin caught the unsaid words anyway, that nothing could really be 100% sure. But he appreciated Edward's words, his attempt at reassurance. Tentatively, he climbed from his chair into the other's lap and curled against his chest, afraid of being moved away until a strong pair of arms closed around him.And they waited.





	Steps

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever write something with zero drama for Oswald? I guess not. 
> 
> Underlined italics stands for Martin's writing/signing

_Steps_

If anyone had ever told Edward that he would have ended up being stepfather to a child, trying to make himself as approachable and likeable as possible, he would have laughed his head off at the ludicrous thought: the plan had always been to find a nice girl to settle with that didn't remind him of his mother, having a couple of kids with her, a snake as a family pet (he had never been a fan of dogs - too noisy, too smelly, too untidy) and a nice apartment in Diamond District to house them all (white picket fences didn't exist in Gotham, it was a foreign concept: everything was made of solid steel and iron, cages designed to defend their prisoners from the chaos that in the dark ruled the city).

But there he was, sitting at the table opposite to a kid who was glaring daggers at him while he smashed his peas into a puree - not even trying to hide that he wasn't positively impressed by the fact that he was dating his father.

Creating completely unneeded tension that hung thickly in the air.  

As if Edward wasn't already having difficulties himself accepting the fact that his most significant relationship to date was so different from what he had imagined for himself - from what he had been raised to think as _normal_ and _right_.  

Such pesky words.

Brands that his parents had seared into his skin; scars that had seeped into his bones; shackles that had rusted over but not quite broken.  

Edward took a sip of the wine Oswald had poured him - a rich and velvety red that slowly slid down his tongue and coated his throat in a syrupy film - before he tried to offer Martin a tentative smile, attempting to establish a connection.

Something.  

Anything.  

Nothing.  

Martin was completely unresponsive, only flickering his eyes towards his father from time to time as if in reaction to a subtle kick under the table - a silent warning to behave himself properly.

“Fine” Oswald sighed heavily, putting his fork down and turning to properly face his son “But when you bring the plate back, I want to see it polished: those tortured peas included”

Or maybe he was just trying to implore Oswald about being excused from the table, so that he could disappear from the room - scurry as far away from him as possible: in hindsight, Edward should have counted that as a possibility.

Martin nodded eagerly and stood up from his place to lean over and plant a kiss on his father's cheek, at the same time still managing to give Edward the meanest side look to ever go down in history - the kid was certainly learning fast, a little Cobblepot in everything that mattered.

Oswald smiled and ruffled his son's hair “Go, we'll see you later for dessert” he wouldn't cave on that, Martin could eat his ice-cream at the table with them like any other kid in his situation; he did realise that it must have been difficult for Martin to welcome Edward in their lives - Oswald might not have always talked about the other man in the best terms - but he had to make his peace with the fact, sooner or later “I'm sorry about that” Oswald apologised once Martin had left, briefly caressing Edward's thigh under the table in a comforting manner.  

Edward shrugged “It's fine” he reassured, ignoring the way his stomach twisted with dejection: the problem was, he wanted the kid to like him and not only for Oswald's sake; Edward didn't quite understand why, could only guess that a part of him had never given up on the romantic notion of having a family of his own - even if it was composed by his enemy-turned-lover and his constantly angry adoptive son “He needs time”

“I'll talk to him” Oswald promised.

“You already did" Edward pointed out “If you keep pressuring him, you'll just make him more determined to dislike me” he didn't presume to know Martin that well but from what he had seen, the kid was stubborn and had a bit of a rebellious streak.  

Oswald sighed again and returned his focus to dinner, his silence recognising that Edward wasn't wrong in his assessment.

But something had to change.

Soon.  

They ate in companionable silence, they never had needed much words between them, interrupted only by Martin’s reappearance. Oswald was glad to see that his son had gotten the message and, instead of making a run for it as soon as he had put the plate in the sink, he took the ice-cream out of the refrigerator so that it would soften up a little and picked out three bowls before sitting down in his place and patiently waiting for them to be done.  

“Ice-cream really is the best, isn't it?” Edward tried, quickly polishing what little was left of his dinner so that the boy wouldn't have to wait too long for his dessert “What's your favourite flavour?”

Martin stared at him until Oswald cleared his throat and the kid took out of his pocket a small notebook to scribble the answer on it.  

_ Coffee.   _

“Coffee?”

Oswald snorted “The rascal tried it once and has been pestering me to have some more ever since”

_You never let me have some._

“You have a life in front of you to develop a caffeine addiction”

“You could always make your own using decaffeinated coffee” Edward had never seen Martin's head snap up in interest at something he had said - never.  Well, if that was what it took, he wasn't beneath gaining the boy's affection through his stomach.

_Can we?_

“Trust you to always have a solution to our problems” Oswald said fondly, smiling at Edward with adoration he usually didn't display in front of Martin to avoid making him uncomfortable; maybe that was something he was doing wrong, not letting his son see how deeply the affection he and Edward held for each other ran “Alright.  For tonight, though, you're going to make do with chocolate” Oswald conceded as he stood up to clear the plates, ignoring Edward's noise of protest.

_What's your favourite flavour?_

Edward supposed that with his idea, he had earned himself basic courtesy - at least for that evening “Watermelon”

Martin wrinkled his nose at the answer.

“My boy, I'm afraid we'll never cure him of his unhealthy obsession with watermelon”

* * *

There were two things that had always terrified Edward: a loved one getting hurt - he had never had many of those - and being left alone to tend to a child - probably a leftover trauma from when he would be forced to babysit his cousins.

It was just his luck that he would have to deal with both circumstances at the same time, wholly unprepared and shaky with nerves.

The underground clinic ran by Lee was nothing grand: certainly, there wasn't a room full with toys to keep kids distracted and entertained while the adults nervously waited for scraps of news, anything to ease their worries. Though, even if there had been one, Edward wasn't quite sure that anything would have managed to take Martin's mind off of the fact that his father currently was in surgery.

Edward had been woken up from a very much deserved afternoon nap after the night's before heist by Lee herself, her concerned voice distorted by the phone informing him that Oswald had just been brought in with a panicking child in tow after he had gotten caught in a firefight.   

Martin paced along the short corridor, eyes hopefully looking up at the door as if to will Lee to come out of the room and let them in; Edward hadn't been given any details, he couldn't realistically tell Martin how long it would take before they could see Oswald - even if he had known, Edward wouldn't have been able to make any promises: there were so many complications that could rise on an operating table “Come here and sit, you're wearing yourself out”

Martin shook his head, didn't even turn to look at him in a sign of acknowledgment.  

Edward sighed “You said that he was conscious when you arrived, didn't you?”

An affirmative bob of messy curls.

“That's a good sign”

Finally, Martin turned around. Edward didn't need to know sign language to read the question on the boy's face - even if he did know it: he had started learning ASL as soon as he had met Martin. Edward patted on the seat next to him, smiling when the boy got the hint and reluctantly climbed on the chair; he had to clamp down on the instinct of running his fingers through Martin's head in an attempt at taming it, unsure about whether the gesture would be welcomed from anyone else who wasn't Oswald.  

_So?_

“It means that he hadn't lost much blood” it was also true that Oswald might have been on the verge of passing out and Martin hadn't noticed, but Edward decided to keep that little piece of information to himself “It's good, even if the bullet hit something slightly more serious”

_ I didn't see but dad was holding his leg - the bad one. _

That wasn't exactly thrilling, Oswald already had enough troubles walking without adding another injury “Upper or lower?” Edward inquired, tapping his own leg to show Martin what he meant.

The boy leaned over and put his hand under the man's knee before he huddled back in his chair, looking up at him in an expectant manner; dad always said that Edward was clever, it was time that he showed it and gave him something.

Well, if Oswald really hadn't been bleeding out fast, it was unlikely that the popliteal artery - the second part of the femoral artery - had been hit by the bullet; the damage could have been much worse if Oswald had been hit in the upper leg “I think he's going to be alright, Lee is a very good doctor”

_Are you sure?_

“Reasonably so, yes”

Martin caught the unsaid words anyway, that nothing could really be 100% sure. But he appreciated Edward's words, his attempt at reassurance. Tentatively, he climbed from his chair into the other's lap and curled against his chest, afraid of being moved away until a strong pair of arms closed around him.  

And they waited.

* * *

Their tentative relationship had gone under a setback when Edward had to move in the manor in order to make life easier for Oswald; his lover's tibia had been shattered and the recovery would be no laughing matter, especially in the beginning when Oswald ideally shouldn't have put any weight on his leg. Despite the fact that Martin recognised that it was a necessity - he wasn't outright hostile as a couple of months before - he still didn't hide that he wasn't entirely happy with the new arrangement.

Especially the part where Edward and Oswald shared a bed.  

“He's used to joining me whenever he has a nightmare and doesn't feel comfortable doing it when you're in the bed too” Oswald explained after the nth tense goodnight ritual.

Edward sighed as he walked into the bathroom to put his clothes in the hamper, already having established a familiar routine in his new home “What if you need help during the night? I can't be in another room”

“He knows, you tell him that every other day” Oswald said, scowling down at the bulky brace that hindered his movements as he slowly started to slide out of his trousers, careful of not jostling his bad leg too much: God, but it was like he had some kind of sign on it - _Please, hit here: it's already ruined anyway_ “Ed" he called out in an exasperated voice when his trousers got stuck in the upper edge of the brace.

“Coming!” Edward shouted from behind the half closed door, followed by the noise of the toilet being flushed.

It was so… domestic.  Perfectly so, if only his son would put a little more effort in understanding that Edward wasn't hogging his father for himself and they could share his attentions without any problems.

“The brace again?” Edward inquired as he walked up to his lover and knelt down after putting in Oswald's hands a pill and a glass of water, expert fingers tugging down the trousers without painfully jostling his leg “There you go”

“Thank you”

“Don't mention it” Edward reassured as he turned down the covers “Time to sleep, you heard the physiotherapist: you have to..”

“Rest" Oswald finished for him “I know, I know” and even if he didn't like it, the physiotherapy session had left him quite exhausted and craving a good nap; he gratefully slithered under the sheets, grimacing when the pain briefly flared up in his nerves, and curled himself in his usual spot “Check on Martin in a little?”

“Of course, don't worry” Edward joined his lover, a book propped up against his bent legs; it would stay closed until Oswald fell asleep, his hands busy running through his partner's hair and down his spine - not that it would take long for Oswald to fall victim of his tiredness and painkillers: his eyes were already half-closed, shoulders raising and falling in a low and steady rhythm.

He got up only around ten, careful of not waking Oswald up, and tiptoed to Martin's room, opening the door just a sliver to peer in; the lamp on the bedside table was still turned on so, Edward slipped inside to click it off. It was only when he got closer to the bed that he noticed that, under the covers, Martin was shaking with silent sobs “Bad dream?” 

Martin poked his head out of the blankets and looked up at Edward, nodding a little; the other man looked tired, hair and pyjamas ruffled in a way that he had rarely seen, even in the mornings. 

“Do you want to come to sleep with your dad?” He offered, remembering what Oswald had told him about his son often seeking comfort after a nightmare.  

_ You're already there.   _

“And?” Edward prodded, bending down to wipe the tears away from Martin's face with the sleeve of his pyjamas “I have nightmares too, there's nothing to be ashamed about”

_ About what? _

“A lot of bad stuff” he answered vaguely, shrugging: the subject of his nightmares really weren't the kind of stories one told to a child “I didn't have a nice dad like you do” 

_ I'm sorry.  _

Edward smiled, caressing the boy's hair “It's okay, he can't hurt me anymore”

_ I'm sorry about being mean with you too. _ Martin signed tentatively, hoping that he wouldn't be rebuked with a sharp and annoyed answer; after all, if he was so sorry he could just start being nicer right? But it wasn't so easy, he wasn't mean on purpose: he just got an ugly feeling inside sometimes, a feeling that made him act stupid.  

“Forgiven” Edward slipped his arms under Martin and hoisted him up after he had turned the light off; Martin was a little too old to be carried around but Edward was sure that, at his age, the kid wouldn't get used to it - it was more probable that if Edward attempted to pick him up in any other occasion, Martin would glare at him until he backed off. 

Easing Martin in the bed didn't go exactly as smoothly as he had thought and Oswald stirred, one eye blinking open “Wha-?” He asked in confusion, even as his arms closed around a familiar small body that was snuggling up to him.

“Martin is sleeping with us" Edward murmured in explanation, slipping off his glasses and putting them over the book on the nightstand before he turned the light off. 

“It's okay, honey” Oswald whispered “We'll keep the nightmares away”

Martin nodded at his father's reassuring words but stiffened a little when he felt Edward's hand on his back and didn't relax until the other man started humming lowly in his throat, lulling both him and his father back to sleep. 


End file.
